


Marriage Metamorphosis

by StarLight13 (Pd13)



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Auror Harry Potter, Dubious Consent, Emotional Hurt, Famous Harry, Infidelity, Insensitive Harry Potter, M/M, Married Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter, Oblivious Harry Potter, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Panic Attacks, References to Depression, Suicidal Thoughts, references to disorders
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-15
Updated: 2020-09-05
Packaged: 2021-03-05 05:40:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 11,008
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25289200
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pd13/pseuds/StarLight13
Summary: Post-War Wizarding World sees Auror Harry Potter leading a successful life with a fast track job at the Ministry, enjoying his status as Golden Boy and married to a non-Dark Mark bearing Draco Malfoy in a deal struck with the Ministry.Hiding his anxiety disorder from Harry for fear of divorce landing him in a Ministry cell, Draco has lost himself to fit into Harry's world.But for how long will this last? And when things do erupt, what'll Harry do to salvage a marriage he'd neglected and taken for granted for the last five years? Or will he even bother?
Relationships: Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter, Minor or Background Relationship(s)
Comments: 85
Kudos: 133





	1. The Beginning

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger Warning: This chapter and the next one have mentions of dub-con, panic attacks and anxiety disorder. There will be symptoms of depression and related stuff without Draco realising it. So, please proceed with caution.

Harry Potter had a husband. Draco Malfoy Potter.

After defeating Lord Voldemort in his 7th year (though Harry didn’t attend Hogwarts as it had become one of the control bases of the Death Eaters), the Chosen One had fulfilled people’s expectations by joining the Auror Force, dedicating his life to catching dark wizards and witches.

Joining the Force within months of the Battle of Hogwarts; now at 23, Harry was the Head of the best Auror squad, with one of the highest rates of case closure. They were often assigned complicated and high-profile cases, making Harry’s professional life challenging.

Upon his incarceration, Lord Lucius Malfoy had negotiated a deal with the Ministry, in exchange for information on some of the foreign Death Eaters with connections to the escaped English Death Eaters. Many had been apprehended due to the information disclosed, leading to the Ministry accepting Malfoy’s demands. Heir Draco Malfoy, who had been kept in Ministry custody (a small jail cell in one of the Ministry basements) since his arrest after the battle, had been released after a hasty trial which had been for the sake of appearance and that had proved his innocence. The lack of a Dark Mark, his status as a wizarding minor and of course, his father’s deal had played a part. The negotiations had been difficult no doubt, as Lucius had started from a position of disadvantage (his cell in Azkaban). But he was Lucius Abraxas Malfoy, for Merlin’s sake! Within the year, not only had he freed his son but changed his wife’s imprisonment to a house arrest.

The Ministry, having suffered two years being indirectly controlled by You Know Who and the last year under his direct control, had had enough of following Death Eater dictates, no matter the importance of their information. They had not only relegated Narcissa Malfoy to a modest Ministry approved house in France, but succeeded in trapping the most precious person to both ‘notorious’ Malfoys- their son bound to the Golden Boy of the Ministry. 

As per the deal, Draco was stripped of all the wealth and privileges attached to the Malfoy name and was married to Harry Potter. But Harry made sure the boy retained his Malfoy name, both as a reminder of his past and as an important possession to his family and the Ministry.

Oh! The Boy Who Lived had volunteered for this. After all, this had made it easier for his request of a seat at the Wizengamot, as a partial member (with voting rights), to be accepted by the upper echelons of the Ministry. Harry had wanted to bring about change in the Wizarding World. When he’d discussed this with Hermione and Ron, they had made him realise that merely running from his fame wouldn’t lessen it. In fact, it would make him seem more elusive and leave plenty of opportunity for people to use/wield it to their own benefit.

“Besides, your fame and popularity can be the very tools you can use to make your voice heard about all the relevant issues. Similar to the muggle celebrities.” Hermione’s advice, though initially distasteful, had been right as usual. Gradually, Harry had learnt, through trial and tribulations to navigate the murky waters of the press and public expectations. With no small amount of unacknowledged help and input from his husband.

Draco Potter had become an example of a model husband, the one who would fit right in the Pureblood circles, or even in the Victorian Era (if one could have a husband then, not a wife). It had taken a few months, for Draco to understand what was required of him in the Potter household. But he had adapted soon, easing the way for Harry to function smoothly in his life.

Harry Potter had a beautiful spouse. Graceful, poised and polite; a perfect companion to stand next to the handsome Saviour. The Daily Prophet, The Witch Weekly and other tabloids had often splashed their pictures on the front page after the couple were seen in public or Ministry events, not resisting in making a few digs at the spouse’s less than acceptable past. The Witch Weekly had even done a huge spread on the personal life of the Saviour of the Wizarding World, photographing his home and all his family-friends. ‘ _A Glimpse into Our Hero’s Life: Post-War Life with Malfoy and the Ministry’_.

Draco Potter had been seen in various charity events, had volunteered in many orphanages and helped in many Ministry cases that needed potions expertise. All of Harry’s press statements, his secretary (both old & new) knew, had to have had passed Draco’s final approval before they were released. In the five years of his marriage, Harry had never even realised how many ruffled feathers his husband had smoothed, how many people he had stopped from exploiting the famous Auror and how many conversations he had started to help Harry navigate his way or drew to a subtle close after stormed off in a huff.

Yet Draco Malfoy Potter remained in the **_background_**. **_Unacknowledged_**. **_Silent_**. **_Invisible_**. Despite being in the public eye occasionally, due to his famous Auror husband. He remained a ditzy blond with a charming smile and no substance between his ears. After all, charity could be a mandatory part of his punishment by the Ministry. And the part about helping the Auror Department- surely, he must have visited his husband in the Ministry like a good house-husband.

* * *

Harry exited his bathroom, wiping his wet hair as he spotted his clothes neatly laid out in his bed. After Kreacher’s death in the year following the war, Harry had purchased a new house elf, named Ditty. She had seemed young, as far as Harry could tell but she had proved to be very useful. She did all the housework and fulfilled each of his demands in a jiffy, unlike even old Kreacher. Today, Ditty had laid out his midnight blue robes, with complimentary grey shirt and dark trousers.

As he got ready for work, Harry thought of all the tasks he had to finish at work before he could leave for the dinner invitation at Weasley cottage. This was the first dinner party hosted by Ron and Hermione after Hugo’s birth seven months ago. Harry was looking forward to this dinner as he loved to dote on his godson, Hugo was absolutely adorable. But he had no plans for children of his own. He was too busy in the Auror Department these days, with an imminent promotion to Deputy Head Auror within a year when Deputy Head Hendricks retired. Besides, Draco didn’t even seem interested in children, otherwise he would have mentioned something.

Although since their marriage, Draco had seemed less demanding and forthright with his opinions, he hardly spoke without a question being addressed to him in private. In public too, he engaged in the expected conversation with few people, mostly Harry’s colleagues, bosses and his friends. And of course, with the people Harry introduced him to, for specific purposes like gleaning information not easily disclosed or persuading something or even charming the wife/husband of the intended.

Initially Harry had been relieved that Draco had kept his bigoted opinions and caustic remarks and taunts to himself, even when meeting his friends. But Draco had seemed to turn a new leaf since his release, greeting Ron, Hermione, Luna and Neville cordially the next day at their private reception ceremony (after their Ministry marriage). Over the months, Draco seemed to accept and mix well with Harry’s friends, showing not a hint of the prejudiced, bullying git he had been at Hogwarts. And as Harry had witnessed at their first Ministry sponsored event, the Malfoy upbringing and social skills were an asset to his goals of increasing his network within the Ministry circles.

Draco was already seated at the kitchen table of Grimmauld Place when Harry arrived for breakfast. The big dining room was only used for entertaining guests, Draco had learnt when Harry had simply walked off with his breakfast plate to eat it on the kitchen table, on the second day of their marriage. Just like he had learnt to buy red or yellow bedsheets for Harry’s bed when Harry had vanished the green one with a scowl. Similar to many of the lessons Draco had learnt in those dreadful two years under the Dark Lord’s shadow; Harry’s habits, likes, dislikes and routine too had been accompanied by pain, silence and fear.

Looking at the blond calmly eating his breakfast of toast, eggs and Earl Grey tea, no one would have guessed that he had been in the grips of a massively crippling panic attack an hour earlier. He was lucky that it was not one of those nights where Harry felt like cuddling and Draco had to sleep next to him after their rounds of sex. Waking up from his nightmare wrapped up in his blanket had brought about a panic attack induced by claustrophobia; a remnant of his imprisonment for nearly seven months in the dark, dinghy and cold cell with not even a proper blanket or basic amenities offered to him, and under constant supervision of the guards who had loved to taunt the son of the Dark Lord’s right-hand man. 

They ate in silence, like most days, with Harry reading The Daily Prophet and Draco instructing Ditty about her chores after he finished his meal. Before leaving for work through his floo, Harry thought of reminding Draco of tonight’s engagement, before dismissing it. Draco bloody well knew how important this Weasley gathering was to Harry, he wouldn’t dare think of missing it.

It might seem simple, but managing the Grimmauld Place along with his other responsibilities seemed too much for Draco on some days. He felt like curling up in his old four poster bed with green silk sheets and let his old house elf Misty bring him hot chocolate to cheer him up. His eyes prickled with tears when he remembered that he could never have those beautiful days back, with his manor and his parents around. Draco missed lounging in the sun-room as his mother played the piano or sitting with his father in his study, discussing the philosophical works of the old, Greek wizard Plato. Missed flying in his personal Quidditch pitch, the Eastern Garden that was filled with all six types of magical Narcissus flowers (Lucius’s gift to his beloved wife).

After sending off the final report for the latest case that he had been assigned by the Auror Department, along with the list of requisitions that the Matron of the Albus Dumbledore Orphanage for the Young had requested two days ago, Draco took a deep breath and swallowed a blue potion, after two little orange ones. He had visited his healer at St Mungo’s after weeks of suffering from strange aches and pains at his shoulder and back. Numerous spell-tests later, Healer Trevor had diagnosed it as a stress related pain that would flare up if he was either under tremendous pressure or if he had pent up stress and anxiety that manifested in physical aches. The healer had then proceeded to give him a deep penetrating look, having no effect on the one who had had Snape as his Head of House and lived with Bellatrix Lestrange for months on end. It had been an old argument between them, Draco refusing his healer’s advice to seek a mind-healer for ‘suspected mental trauma, common to most people who were intimately involved in the war’ and his patient insisting that he was fine. Trevor had been one of the only healers that had accepted Draco as a patient, despite Draco’s lack of Dark Mark and him being the spouse of the Chosen One. So, Draco knew that despite his threats, Trevor wouldn’t breech his healer-patient confidentiality oath to reveal all of this to Harry.

As he lay down for a nap after skipping his lunch, Draco shuddered thinking about Harry’s reaction to being informed of his husband’s mental health (or lack of one). He had taken great pains and precaution in hiding his panic attacks and nightmares from his husband, especially since Harry had a habit of entering his room whenever he wanted, without knocking. After all, ‘it was his house Draco was living in, wasn’t it?’ Harry had replied when Draco had mentioned it in his first week at Grimmauld Place. Keeping his potions at his lab at the basement (added after Draco had refurbished the house according to Harry’s wishes and Weasley inputs) and rushing to the bathroom whenever he could feel the onset of one. Despite being a very successful Auror, Harry had never suspected anything, other than Draco having a small bladder. Occlumency had been Draco’s life saver, despite having been taught by his mad aunt and the scarring memories attached to it. His shields had not only helped hide his after-shocks, jitters and his disorientation that lingered at-times, but let him deal with the trigger words and situations till he could reach a safe place to let it run its course. And brewing his own version of a less-addicting Draught of Peace that kept the nightmares at bay.

But he lived in fear of the day that Harry would know about his anxiety disorder and terminate their marriage, which had kept him from being placed under house arrest or worse, back at that cold Ministry cell. He had adapted to this life as best and as quick as he could, blending into Harry’s life and emulating all the qualities expected of the husband of Harry Potter. He had been quick to suppress or change any behavioural trait, idea or action that could displease his husband. Having grown up with the beautiful bond of love and care between his parents, Draco’s own marriage had become a bitter pill to swallow, including his Auror’s numerous dalliances that were kept out of the press by a formidable team of Law-Wizards retained by his husband.

Draco had known that Harry had disliked him, hated him even; but Harry himself had agreed to the marriage when the Ministry had proposed it as a condition for his freedom. So, it must have meant that Harry had atleast considered being civil, if not friendly with Draco in their marriage. But the first few months had disabused him of that notion. Cold silences filled with distrust, annoyance and resentments had settled in the gap between them, left to grow in the space that should have been taken up by the growth of new bonds of friendship, trust and empathy.

Scared of pissing of Harry any further after the incidents at breakfast and lunch on the first day of his marital life, Draco had done his conjugal duty. He had known that it would have hurt the first time, but he had miscalculated how much pain he would be in after the first coupling. He remained unaware that his husband had assumed his sexual experience due to the various rumours at Hogwarts and the general consensus amongst the female population that Malfoy was a sexy bloke. Harry had attributed the lack of erection to Malfoy’s sexual disinterest in his ‘forced marriage’ husband and his irritation had found a physical outlet in the marriage bed. Was Harry not fulfilling his obligation to this marriage? Couldn’t the prat atleast feign interest instead of acting all nervous and reluctant?

Oh! He hadn’t raped his husband, but he hadn’t been particularly careful of the man either. He had been surprised however, when Draco had curled around his bicep after casting cleaning charms on both of them; his enigmatic expression notwithstanding. That night, the couple slept embraced, Draco’s face seeking warmth in Harry’s chest as his husband wrapped his arms around his waist, the citrusy-vanilla smell of blond hair easing his mind into a deep sleep. But Draco, mistaking it as a negative reaction had made sure never again to initiate post-coital intimacy. On the days Harry headed for the bathroom after climaxing, Draco would quickly wipe himself and leave Harry’s room in his nightgown, returning to his own large, cold bed.

There were days when Draco wondered if he dissatisfied Harry so much, despite trying to be so perfect for him, that he sought companionship elsewhere; with brunettes and red-heads that made him smile and laugh at their jokes, made him give into his passions and explore his kinks with them. He didn’t know why he had sobbed uncontrollably that day after he’d accidently (or maybe purposely, giving into his curiosity of knowing Harry’s secrets) viewed a memory in Harry’s pensieve, the day he had found it unwarded three years ago. After all, he had suspected that Harry might be having an affair, if his irregularity in initiating sexual congress was any indication. Draco had realised that Harry engaged in sex on a regular basis (it was expected of any young, healthy male, according to the magazine he’d chanced upon in Flourish and Blotts) and if it wasn’t with his husband, then it was with another. It had been a memory of a half-naked Harry fondling a luscious red-head, who’d thrown her head back in ecstasy. The exchange of easy banter and casual touches after their shared intimacy, had lanced his heart. The crush he’d had on the ‘speccy git’, hidden so deeply within his heart that he’d managed to even fool himself all these years, had actually crushed his heart into little smithers.

Draco had never refused his husband, even if he didn’t feel like having sex at that time. He’d always responded to his husband’s touches and saw to his needs being fulfilled. And having had no prior experience in sexual intimacy (not even knowing the rules of being in a healthy sexual relationship and never gaining the opportunity to discuss one with a responsible adult), he’d assumed that Harry had every right to his body and any negative reaction would be taken as refusal of doing his marital duty. Besides, his husband was a handsome man, whom Draco had admired from afar for a long time, convinced that he never could have him and it was no hardship to engage in sex. He even enjoyed it often. But if Harry was so dissatisfied, why did he continue bedding his husband even after five years of marriage? He wondered if someday Harry would come through the floo clutching divorce papers, having had enough of this shackle that prevented him from publicly dating those women. Before he could think any further, he slipped into the arms of Morpheus. 

* * *

Harry had been angry at Draco when he’d arrived home, to find his husband sleeping away when he should have been getting ready for the dinner at Weasleys’. Draco had listened to Harry rant at him with his head bowed, guessing that Harry must have had a frustrating day and letting him vent it all out. With a curt sorry, he’d left Harry frowning at the window, to select clothes for his husband. They had arrived at the gathering fashionably late but Harry’s bad mood had quickly dissipated when surrounded by his mates.

Draco had stood next to Harry, listening to Ron, Seamus, Zacharias Smith and Melody Brackenridge talk about the mall (a muggle entertainment centre of some sort) that would be built at a site that the Purebloods had considered as sacred for centuries. He had bit his lip, after strengthening his mental shields, to stop uttering any remark that would no doubt displease Harry and make the others go off about ‘stuck-up Purebloods and their idiotic, stale bigotry’ (like it had happened the one time Draco had commented on a ritual taught to most of the Pureblood children when they turned six).

Luna’s call for Draco to join her conversation with Hannah, had provided him with the perfect opportunity to escape the conversation. As usual, his husband remained oblivious to his pain when he openly criticised all the Purebloods and anything related to them (often insinuating that most of them were dark wizards).

A frazzled Hermione appeared next to Draco, placing Hugo in his arms before disappearing into the kitchen with a quick “Hold ‘im for a sec.” Awkwardly Draco bounced the brown-haired baby, who gazed at him with a dimpled smile and patted his cheeks with slobbery palms.

Luna sat next to Draco on the couch and commented, “You should have a baby with Harry. You’re both good with them and it might cement your bond deeper.” She had a bright smile on her face when he glanced at her, giving her the dreamy look that had led to her being called ‘Loony’ back at Hogwarts. He gave her a small smile, before stroking the soft chubby cheeks of Harry’s godson. Draco wondered if he could tell her that her friend wouldn’t have a child with his husband, not when he couldn’t even go a week without gracing the bed of his mistresses. If Harry couldn’t even tolerate Draco, why would he want to raise his son or daughter with him?

As Harry exited the kitchen with a butterbeer in hand, he saw his husband’s platinum blond hair shine under the light, as he smiled while conversing with Fleur and her sister in French. As he watched the way Draco’s lips curl around the edge of the champaign flute and the bobbing of his adam’s apple as he swallowed, a stray thought entered his mind; even after 5 years of marriage, Harry couldn’t tell if his smile was genuine or fake, let alone what thoughts were circling inside his mind. But then again, should it matter what Draco thought as long as he wasn’t causing trouble for Harry or doing anything that could ruin his reputation? (Though Harry would be hard-pressed to say anything if asked about the last time Draco had caused any trouble for his husband)

I suppose he hasn’t caused any major trouble since our marriage, Harry thought as he saw Ron and the guys make their way out to the backyard. Draco had kept his head down, changed his views on muggle-borns & muggles (or atleast didn’t speak them out loud), projected a good image to the public ( _Dark Wizard Malfoy turned a New Leaf after Marriage to Saviour?_ – Prophet’s headlines had screamed) and had avoided antagonising/taunting/fighting with Harry. He was a good looking spouse to have (ok, he was damn sexy and looked delectable in those tight trousers) and Harry could bank upon him to be sexually available whenever he wanted, especially when he’d broken up with his girl of the month (usually a one-night stand turned two/three or four nights) and was too lazy/busy to search for another. Harry had been tensed the first time the news-rags had featured articles with rumours of an affair, waiting for a Malfoy temper-tantrum. But Draco hadn’t even reacted to it, simply went about his day and had been his usual self at night, kissing him softly and bringing him to completion with his mouth.

Marriage to Draco wasn’t so awful, Harry mused as he picked up Hugo from his uncle George. Atleast it gave him an excuse for breaking up when the girls started dreaming of becoming the next Mrs Potter.

That night as Harry burrowed into his bed with his blanket, he thought of the remembrance ceremony that would take place at Hogwarts in a few days, for the Sixth Memorial Day of The Battle of Hogwarts.

“Don’t forget about the Hogwarts ceremony atleast,” Harry called out to Draco as his husband was about to close the door. The throbbing bruises and love-bites covered by the gown and scarf, Draco felt tears sting his eyes at his husband’s snide tone. He whispered a soft “yes, Harry”, before exiting his husband’s room.


	2. Spiralling Thoughts

Draco’s mind was a strange place most days.

Filled with a variety of information that he’d acquired from the books and journals that he read for hours on end, sitting in the Black library. Books had always been a source of solace for the blond, providing a means of escape when reality had overwhelmed him. He had been given a few books from one of the Malfoy libraries, the ones deemed by the Ministry as ‘not filled with Dark Arts’. A book of poetry by Erazie, one of Narcissa’s favourite poets, had been among these scant few books and reading them aloud had made her absence a little less painful.

After her house arrest, Narcissa had tried sending letters regularly to her darling son. The officials in-charge of monitoring correspondences of the convicted Death Eaters had limited her letters to thrice a year, citing few personnels in their division being swamped with work. After all, many Dark Lord sympathisers had been imprisoned and the analysis of each letter took considerable time, so as not to overlook any nefarious plots.

Draco had considered visiting her in France in the first two years as a free wizard. But his own precarious position, both in the eyes of the Ministry as well as in his own marriage had made him hesitant. And after the incident with Theodore’s visit, he’d decided never to make such requests. But Draco missed his mother and his friends so terribly.

In the last year or so, he’d developed a habit of getting lost in thoughts. His mind could wander for hours on end, without him knowing that he’d lost track of time. The first time he’d realised this, his tea had gone cold despite him recalling Ditty having just prepared a cup for him. But the incident that scared him had occurred at his Potions lab, when the smoke from his ruined potion had almost led him to pass out on the stone-cold floor. Since then, he taken to pinching, scratching, biting his lips or digging his nails into his palms; anything to keep his mind firmly in reality.

Spending his days volunteering at the orphanage had seemed daunting at first. Community Service mandated by the Wizengamot, for ‘rehabilitating the criminal Dark Wizards to better navigate in civil society’. (The Ministry had left no stone unturned in branding the other side as deranged savages and ensuring the harshest punishments, most of which were of a life-time variety.) The Matron had been frosty and dismissive of him, relegating him to manage a group of trouble-making pre-teens; hoping it would drive him away from the institution.

But she’d underestimated the unofficial leader of the Slytherin House; a bully, true but adept at manipulating, controlling and commanding a variety of spoilt, snide and wily housemates. It had been a slow process, with each child needing careful handling. A month into his service, he’d successfully made the ragtag bunch into a united group that had won a mock Quidditch match against a team of older boys from another orphanage. And even after his mandated service period was over, in a year and half, Draco had kept up his visits at the orphanage.

He’d never expressly told anyone (not that there were many who would ask him, most certainly not his husband) why he continued to go there. These toddlers, children, pre-teens and the teenagers (when they were on break from their schools) filled the loneliness that perpetually seemed to reside in his heart. If anyone had suggested such an activity seven years ago, Draco was sure he’d have laughed his ass off. _Babysitting orphans!_ It was best left to the noble knights in Gryffindor. But now, the hustle-bustle of dozens of children, the innocent laughter and fits of tantrums, the singing voices, the cries from their games; his day was incomplete without these sounds. He would have never realised without first-hand experience, the power of a baby’s smile, how a child’s eyes could light up as they took their first steps towards a trusted adult and the joy that suffused his soul when a shy voice greeted him, “Dwa-coo”.

Sometimes Draco wondered if he had a child with Harry; would this roaring beast of loneliness and sadness, that seemed to steal his breathe, squeeze his heart and sink his mind, leave him be?

Sometimes, when he looked at young couples walking hand-in-hand, as he kept an eye on the kids along with other volunteers, he wondered about the fabled ‘ ** _Love_** ’.

Both famous and infamous, lauded and cursed in equal measure, a poison and a cure rolled into one. What was love? Was he in love? If so, then was his one-sided? Ill-fated? And if not, then maybe he was unworthy to be loved. What had he done to be loved?

A blood supremacist; he’d sprouted pureblood ideals and bigoted nonsense all through his childhood, let himself cower and serve a lunatic (who ironically, was a half-blood), stood and watched as his mother took the Dark Mark meant for him, plotted to kill the headmaster when threatened with the lives of his parents, brought Death Eaters into his school and continued to cower and suffer the entire year after his failed mission. Maybe Potter and Weasley were correct when they snickered (out of Draco’s earshot, not that Weasley wouldn’t have done so in front of him) about ‘rotten pricks in Slytherin, who’d have sold their mothers if they could save their in-bred asses’.

Draco had tried to befriend Harry, three months into their marriage. He’d pep-talked himself all day by rationalising: they were married, the past had to be left behind, they were both functioning adults, new beginnings were difficult but beneficial…

But the minute the word ‘friendship’ had come out of his mouth, Harry’s expression of disbelief had short-circuited his brain. “You want to be my friend, do you Malfoy?” he’d scoffed. “What makes you think I’ll accept something that I’d the good sense to reject at 11?” His derisive laugh, along with the contempt shining through his eyes haunted Draco till date. He’d bit the inside of his cheek to keep his expression from crumbling in misery. A 14-year-old Draco would have bristled and launched a vicious counter-attack, cutting the former Gryffindor down quick. But the new Draco had lost his sharp edge between bowing before the Dark Lord, fearful of a Cruciatus Curse and being forced to torture Muggles as entertainment for said master. This Draco knew his reality and his position as a pawn. He’d ruthlessly suppressed any and all inclinations, thoughts, habits and actions that could be linked to the pointy-chinned blond child who’d delighted in calling Granger a ‘Mudblood’, Potter a ‘Scarhead’ and bragged about his father.

Some days, Draco wondered if Harry would ever respect or understand for him, let alone care for him. Anyone else would have left Harry a long time ago. Why was Draco still living with him?

Draco could list many, many reasons for his continued co-existence with the Saviour. His father, the Ministry, public scorn & suspicion, his lack of funds or property (a Status of Dependency had been imposed upon him- any money earned by him would go to the Potter vault, under Harry’s purview and Harry had to permit him to withdraw any amount from that) and other reasons. But in reality, Draco wasn’t sure why he lived with a husband who barely tolerated him beyond the bedroom, hadn’t bothered to increase Draco’s allowance despite the rising inflation and happily continued to fuck whoever caught his fancy. And he was scared of change, to mess up and have to live through hell again, to fear for his safety and wonder if he could survive the days and nights. He didn’t think he could. Not anymore.

He was tired of living through this fog which had few bright spots and long spells of dreaded darkness that seemed never-ending. He had nightmares where he saw his parents killed in front of his eyes, where he watched the Dark Lord cast a successful Avada Kedavra on his husband and know with certainty that he would have to debase himself for years. These nightmares that left him gasping for breath, wiping his eyes of tears that just wouldn’t stop, his mind drowning in screams that just wouldn’t past through his throat. Maybe it was just sadness, or ‘trauma’ as his healer loved to term it… it would pass, right?

It helped when he slept, though his lethargy had increased in the last few months. He’d tried to schedule his sleep around the time when Harry wasn’t home; but of late, he felt more tired than usual. At times, he could feel the life drain out of him as time stretched out in front of him, each second ticking by as though was stuck in a limbo. Draco felt himself floundering alone in an ocean of pain, sadness, tears, screams, anger, guilt, resentments and desperation.

A sudden pop alerted him to Ditty’s arrival. “Master Harry be waiting for supper. Will Master be joining him?” Big, dark eyes bore into Draco’s red-rimmed ones as the blond dragged himself off his bed.

“I’ll join him soon.” The house elf bowed low; her sad expression hidden as she apparated away. For a second, Draco was tempted to go down in his nightgown, but quickly changed into suitable casual attire. There was no point in angering Harry any further. He would already be ready with a taunt for Draco, for sleeping all day and not getting ready for the evening meal on time. There were days when Draco wanted to wipe that sneer of his face, punch him hard for all the hurtful comments and callous remarks that he’d silently endured for months and years. Screech, howl and hurl abuses at his husband for his cruel treatment.

But the voice inside him stopped him. It sounded sinister but so convincing, pointing out his tenacious hold on this marriage. What would stop Harry from kicking out his abusive and insane husband? From divorcing his ass back to the Ministry? From not adding a few trumped-up charges to cart him off to a cell in Azkaban? Probably the one where Lucius had lived his last days before being buried at the Azkaban cemetery. And who would support or believe Draco the Dark Wizard? His house arrested mother or Dark Marked friends, most of whom were either serving their own sentences or were settled in the continent?

As he left his room for the kitchen, Draco wondered if anyone would bother looking for him if someday, he just disappeared or died.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's a short chapter, just detailing the extent of damage that Draco's soul and psyche has sustained.  
> Next up will be the Battle of Hogwarts Memorial event and the incident that would bring in change!


	3. Hogwarts: Spiralling

The Potters apparated at the gates of Hogwarts. The wards had been adjusted for the day, to allow a large number of guests to arrive directly at the Hogwarts gates. Being greeted by the press, with their flashing cameras, was not a new experience for Draco; though he wished they would give a few moments before bombarding them with questions and blinding them with the constant white flashes. Harry answered a few questions with the grace of a man used to giving interviews at the drop of a hat (recently he’d become the public face of the Auror Dept, his popularity surpassing even that of his bosses); before escorting his husband towards the Great Hall.

The house tables had been replaced by smaller tables for the Memorial Day; as a crowd of Ministry officials, ex-students, who’s-who of the Wizarding World and of course, those who’d survived the battle on that fateful day, mingled with each other. Headmistress McGonagall and Professor Longbottom could be seen talking to the Minister Wriggleby. A few feet away from them, the youngest Weasley couple were chatting with fellow classmates. Even the Holyhead Harpies chaser Ginny Weasley was present, standing beside her brother and laughing at the jokes.

“Hey mate!” Ron greeted his friend with a thump on the back, as his wife sharing a smile with Draco. “Wriggleby wanted to speak to you. Dropped by a while ago... It’s for the Finnish delegation, innit?” This was the first that Draco had heard of it, though it was not surprising. His husband rarely shared any personal or professional information, yet expecting Draco to be aware of them in case the press threw him for a loop.

“I guess so, though why must he come running to me for every little aspect of this blasted Auror Cooperation Protocol? This was his pet project, after all.” Harry complained, though Draco knew he secretly enjoyed the Minister depending upon him, to such an extent that his secretary had stopped announcing ‘Auror Potter for you, sir.’

“How was the meeting with the patrons?” Hermione Granger-Weasley enquired of him, as their husbands started grousing against the incompetence of the Minister’s Council.

“It went well. We’re hopeful for the grant; it’ll be great for the children if we could finally add the primary education courses,” Draco replied, a genuine smile gracing his visage. _He really looks so young_ , Hermione thought even as she continued asking him about the expansions at the orphanage. It had taken the pair almost a year to break the ice of polite conversation, slowly developing a tentative friendship of sorts as they encountered each-other at Ministry events and social gatherings. As a leading researcher of ‘Intricate and Obscure Magical Theory’ at a private corporation, Hermione often accompanied her husband to these events. Hermione, having had little interest in Quidditch and Draco, having stopped following Quidditch, often found themselves shut out of sporting discussions at these gatherings. So, initially they’d started talking about books and spells (as a common ground). And before long, Draco started seeking her out at such events; even some of her boring monologues were better than the invasive questions, snide comments and outright rejection of the other guests.

Out of the corner of his eye, Draco saw Ginny Weasley’s hands clutching the crook of his husband’s elbow. “My mother is keeping well. She had taken to learning Russian, last time I wrote to her,” answered Draco, all the while watching Harry lean into the bint, as Thomas finished narrating an amusing anecdote. Whether he did it consciously or unconsciously, Draco wasn’t sure; but his breath quickened all the same, hands clenched as the buzzing numbness filled his mind.

He remembered Harry reeking of alcohol as he stumbled through the floo last night. Barely able to stand straight, he’d screamed for Draco. “Where in Merlin’s balls were you?” he’d shouted, slurring some of the words. Still wiping the sleep from his eyes, Draco had squinted at his husband in incomprehension for a minute, before mumbling “sleeping.” Hurling abuses, he’d floundered his way towards his room, dragging Draco behind him with an iron grip (despite being drunk of his ass). “Strip” he’d commanded, unzipping his denims once they were inside. Crossing his arms in a rare show of refusal, Draco had gritted out, “You’re too drunk.” Narrowing his eyes, Harry had wandlessly vanished his robes before doing the same to his husband’s pyjama set. And before Draco could even open his mouth in surprise, he was lying under Harry. Up close, Draco could also smell the floral scent of a woman’s perfume, wafting up from Harry’s wrinkled shirt. Cock still wet from his earlier round of fucking, Harry hadn’t wasted time in foreplay and simple entered his husband. Face averted, Draco’s silent tears of betrayal-tinged-resignation had soaked the pillow, the pain stinging his soul drowning the one coming from his ass. But after a few thrusts, Harry fell asleep still nestled inside him. Shoving the dead weight off him, Draco had run into his bedroom; sobbing and shivering as he sat at the centre of his bed.

Even after retching away the bile of self-loathing, Draco could feel the scent of the other woman on his skin; burning his self-respect and identity away from him. The tears had dried off after some time, but sleep had eluded him. Would he now have to serve Harry every time he came back from fucking his girlfriends? Be bit with lipstick smeared lips and pounded with a cock lubed with her juices? Could he go through with this? He’d accepted it all, sacrificed every ounce of his pride and respect….

 _Salazar, please… I can’t live like this anymore!_ He’d lain all night, staring at the ceiling, head heavy with heart-wrenching thoughts. Even as the sunlight had streamed through the open binds of his room, Draco had considered running away- so far away from this world that no human would ever find him again. He would never be trapped again, never have to obey or serve someone for survival, to depend on someone’s Merlin-be-damned whims again. He could finally watch the sunset and sunrise without wondering what he’d missed or what he’d have to do to avoid the wrath of his master. Harry treated house-elves better than his spouse. Some _Golden_ Boy he was…. But he was atleast better than the Death Eaters, who’d delighted in physical as well as mental tormenting.

As Draco rushed out of the Great Hall, with a rushed excuse to Hermione, he wondered if Harry had been with the red-head last night. They’d been quite a popular couple during sixth year, and there had been rumours about the lovebirds getting hitched after the war. But the chaser had always denied it, claiming that they were just friends and she would rather concentrate on her career. Had they been together all this time? And what about the other girls? Just how many people was his husband fucking behind his back?

Casting a hasty locking charm at the door of the men’s room furthest away from the hall, Draco tried to control his breathing. _1-2-3-4 Inhale, 1-2-3-4 Exhale,_ he muttered wrapping his arms around his chest. Lips trembling in suppressed sobs, closed his eyes to block out everything. The darkness was spreading in front of him, Draco could feel it caging him, trapping him into a hold he could never escape. Heart-beats sky-rocketing, he quickly filled the basin with ice-cold water before dunking his head in it.

The feel of icy wetness and instant numbness jarred his senses back to the reality. Water dripped into his immaculate robes, as he stared back at the wan reflection in the mirror.

“You can do it. You can.” Draco whispered, watching blankly at the lips moving in front of him. “If I could survive Voldemort, I can survive this. It’s nothing in comparison. Just a few more hours.” Today, his mantra was taking longer to work its magic. “Just till tea, then I can leave and retreat. No one can know, no one can see. Be calm, be still, smile and nod.” Draco repeated this a few times, all the while clenching and un-clenching his fingers.

Finally, after a long time (was it 20 mins or 1 hr?), Draco could feel a semblance of control returning. Searching for his wand, he found it near the stalls and grabbing it, quickly righted his appearance. Then, without a backward glance, he rushed out, before Harry or someone else came looking for him. Had he glanced back, he might have caught a glimpse of Neville Longbottom dispelling his disillusionment charm, leaning against the wall right next to the door. Brows furrowed and mouth pinched in a straight line, the man stared at the door the blond just exited.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Through this fic, I'm just exploring Draco's thoughts and reactions. I'm just writing some of his thoughts and actions based on my personal experience with depression. It's different for everyone and writing this helps me deal with some deal with some of my own emotions.  
> Scientific/medical practices prescribed by real life therapists may differ from the ones in my fic as I'm not one. I'll try to justify them as much as possible. Please don't criticise on the basis of the correctness/validity of such things.  
> And I salute each and everyone who has struggled or is still struggling with mental health issues.  
> Part 2 of Hogwarts will be up soon. Thank you for the kudos and comments :)


	4. Hogwarts: Fall

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger Warning: suicide attempt. Pls proceed with caution.

Ron Weasley started on his speech (that was no doubt rewritten or heavily edited by his wife) after his best mate retook his seat at the high table in the Great Hall. This was the first time that he was attending the Memorial Day at Hogwarts. The first two years after the war, the school had been too damaged and the people too scarred for this; the next two years Harry hadn’t thought it prudent to bring his brought-Death-Eaters-into-the-school husband along.

Harry’s speech this year had been passable at best, and quite uninspiring if one would analyse it. But the aura of the Boy Who Lived was such that the most boring monologue delivered blandly by the raven-haired man would gather a crowd. And not once had he mentioned the blond in the entire 12-minute speech.

As Weasley droned on the need for compassion and healing in the post-War wizarding society, Draco found his mind shutting off. Picking up his wine glass, he exited the stifling atmosphere of the Great Hall.

Since stepping foot inside his old school, a boat load of memories had assaulted Draco, nearly sending him to his knees.

**Seven Years.**

Salazar, they were everywhere, in almost every corner. Snickering with Pansy as she delivered sarcastic comment after comment on the Gryffindorks and Puffs, shuddering as he watched Vince and Greg compete with each-other to quickly finish their puddings, gossiping and scheming in the Common Room, the pre-Yule dormitory pranks, the Quidditch matches, the fights in the corridors, the stupid detentions, the nervous-anxiety before exams, the all-night cramming sessions (relying on Snape’s Pepper-Up potion supplies)….

There were dark ones too- mother’s letter after father’s arrest, that wretched mission, the repeated failures with the cupboard, the breakdown in front of Pansy at the start of his last year, consoling Blaise as he arrived delirious after his marking ceremony, receiving cold-shoulders from many as he returned back after Potter’s escape, all those nights when he wondered if the sight of the Dark Lord’s red eyes would be the last thing he ever saw..

He was almost tempted to enter the Slytherin Common Room. Would it have changed, now that his husband had won the war? Were the Slytherins still discriminated against and alienated?

But he found his feet wandering in the opposite direction, towards the Quidditch grounds. He missed his friends so much. Not surprisingly, today’s gathering lacked many Slytherins who’d been in their upper years during the war. And of course, not a single marked wizard or witch were invited. Never-mind that towards the end, the Dark Lord had marked so many of the young (teenagers) witches and wizards to increase his followers. Sometimes, Draco marvelled at the fact that he was spared; or maybe the Dark Lord had considered him even more useless than the new bunch of recruits? But then again, not being a Death Eater hadn’t spared him from the Auror’s wrath during his incarceration. Hexes, minor curses and physical beatings (made to heal the muggle way) had become part of his routine there.

Standing next to the Slytherin Quidditch stands, Draco could almost recall the rush of wind whipping his locks as he soared into the air. Why did he play Quidditch? He’d never won against Harry, though he’d almost always won the other matches. It wasn’t for the adulation from his housemates, nor for the thrill of finding that elusive golden ball. He used to love flying, the sense of letting go of the invisible shackles being a Malfoy had placed upon him. Playing for the team had just been a ‘productive use of his skills’, as father had phrased it.

 ** _Father_**.

Lucius Malfoy, a powerful man of wealth with many connections; none of which had been enough to save him from Azkaban the second time. A man who’d lost his reputation, pride, possessions, family and at the end, his life (in that order). He’d been informed of his father’s death through an official ministry missive a month back, two months after the horrible conditions of Azkaban had snatched away Malfoy Senior. The last memory of his father had been at a barren grey room, near the entrance to that dreaded island. Under Auror supervision, Draco had met his shackled father for a few minutes, enough time to be informed of the bare-bones of the Ministry’s deal and in turn, relay his mother’s trial verdict. Those dull grey eyes had glistened with a sheen of tears, as his son had been dragged away from him for the last time. Lucius Malfoy, the man who’d always prided in his appearance (to the point of excessive vanity) and taught Draco to control his emotions in all circumstances, had been laid bare by the months spent in solitary confinement at the lowest level of Azkaban. This memory still pained Draco, helpless as he was, unable to comfort his mother.

Would he someday get a letter informing him of his mother’s demise? The ministry simply ‘acknowledging his loss’ even as they denied releasing the body or permitting a funeral.

He started walking again, as thoughts circled his mind. What sort of a man was he? Failed as a son; pathetic coward as a human; average at best as a wizard; unwanted as a husband; an unpopular, friendless ex-Slytherin of a pureblood.

Struggling each day to live and please a man who’d rather be rid of Draco than smile at him, alone in a world that had no use for him. _What was the point in continuing to live?_

The few children at ADOY (the orphanage) were better off than learning to rely on him. What skills and knowledge would he give them? He was by far the last person they should emulate, he knew. And when his boys grew old enough to understand and raise questions about the war, would he be able to justify his actions? He’d never deserved their trust and admiration, though he’d been gifted with it. And he didn’t think he could stand to lose it, for them to look at him with the same disgust that his husband sometimes did.

He could end it, he realised. End it, before he lost the precious few things he still retained- his marriage, his status as a somewhat free man, the children, his rapidly losing sanity… No more fear or panic, no need to hide anymore, no more faking his emotions, no more worries or burdens…just bliss of the eternal darkness and peace that would be so much better than this exhausted living. Merlin, he was tired! So, so tired! He could rest finally… all he had to do was give into this voice in his mind.

The Black Lake!

Nearing the lake, he paused. He doubted his body would be found, as this lake merged into the sea beyond the mountains. A quick death, since he couldn’t swim. Right here, right now; it’d be over. In a trance, Draco waded into the lake, the icy cold waters coming up to his knees. He bound his hands and feet (having dropped the wine glass somewhere after exiting the castle), before dropping his wand in the water. Taking a deep breathe, he dived into the lake.

Cold, murky and silent, he thought as he released his last breath.

 _In death, he would finally attain peace._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A cliffhanger!  
> A/N:- I'm sorry for the delay in updating. I know many of you are eagerly waiting for updates. But I'm sorry. Got bogged down with online classes, clearing backlogs, household work among many others. I write whenever I get time, this is not a pre-written story. And for the last couple of days, I've been really struggling in my life. But I'll try to update soon.  
> And a big thank you to each of you for your comments and kudos! For the love and support you've shown to my (borrowed) protagonist. Thank you for taking this journey with me. :)  
> Let me know your thoughts about this!


	5. Of Meetings and Plans

It felt like he’d just closed his eyes, when he was assaulted by the stinging sensation of frigid wind on his wet, shivering body. Opening wet eye-lashes to slits, he saw green blades of grass. There was pressure being applied to his chest and below. Hmm... Something- No, someone- was pumping his lungs and stomach of excess water, and this weird sensation was from the jerks.

Draco blinked a few times, trying to reboot his brain into thinking coherently. He should’ve been dead, a floating corpse in the lake. This was supposed to be over. A relief finally.

Someone had denied it. Had saved him.

Oh Salazar!

Not his husband. Whoever it was, not him. Please!

It took some effort to tilt his head, but he did it. A dark-haired man, wearing robes darker than Harry’s.

It was Neville Longbottom, professor of Herbology at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, the _Snake-slayer_ , a war veteran and engaged to Hannah Abbot.

Neville had foiled his suicide. And by doing so, subjected him to a fate worse than death- continuing to live with Harry Potter.

Thoughts still sluggish and shivering in the cold, Draco gradually became aware of his surroundings as he floated behind Longbottom, body restricted by a spell unlike Petrificus Totalus. They passed through the main corridor and up the staircase, to the second floor. Unlike Sprout, who’d converted the greenhouse between the 2nd and 3rd as her office, Longbottom used a small but well-furnished airy room as his office.

Depositing Draco on a plush seater with curved armrests near the fireplace, Neville sat infront of him, casting warning and drying charms in quickly. Taking a deep breath, he regarded the blond who’d rested his head on the arm of the settee and curled his body, knees pressed to chest.

Neville didn’t know why he’d looked up as he was exiting the Great Hall, going to his office to collect a package before he met his fiancé at Hogsmeade. Recognising that shining cap of white blond hair to belong to none other than Draco, he’d changed direction. It wasn’t until he’d come across the broken wine glass and seen the blond nearing the Black Lake, that he felt a sense of unease stir in his gut. Even as he rushed towards the man to drag him out of the water, in his mind’s eye he kept replaying _that scene_.

His mother, in her few lucid moments, trying to climb out of a window outside the Janus Thickey Ward. A relieved smile on the face that had gathered a faint few wrinkles, standing at the ledge of the window. At his shout of alarm, two attendants had rushed forwards, trying to coax her down from certain death. But Alice Longbottom had been present, ready to end her miserable existence, refusing the entreaties to hold their outstretched hand, suspicious of wands and stray spells. Till date, Neville didn’t know if she’d even recognised him as she stared straight into his eyes. He’d watched helplessly as a healer had arrested her fall. But today, he had stopped it. Stopped a man from falling down- in this case, drowning. And that crash course in Advanced and Emergency Healing that he’d undertaken last summer break under old Madame Pomphrey had paid off in resuscitating the blond.

Now, he didn’t know what to do. Should he try talking to Draco? Leave him alone for a little while? Call for Harry? A flashback of Draco’s panic attack earlier had him hesitating, afraid to make the wrong decision. A Gryffindor’s disciplinary issue- he knew how to handle. A prank gone wrong- he could deal. But how to deal with the suicidal spouse of a friend who had other issues (maybe) and who you were never friendly with, in the first place (not to mention the bullying for about six school years).

He called a house elf and ordered some tea (though he could do with some firewhiskey); all the while thinking what to do with the man who’d closed his eyes as though asleep, if not for the slight twitches of his hands and feet.

There was one man who could handle Draco, who knew him well (atleast a version of him) or could atleast guide Neville on what to do, if all else failed.

Having sent word, he resumed his seat, staring at the fire.

“Why?” a raspy voice questioned. Turning, he saw grey eyes staring at him steadily, expression blank. Hands clenched; Neville regarded him, “I could ask you the same question. Why do it?”

Grey eyes turned to look at the flames as silence reigned. “I can’t do it anymore… I just can’t.” Before Neville could question further, an elf popped up with tea service and laid it on the low table hastily transfigured before the seater. Preparing two cups of tea, Neville carefully thought of the statement and what to ask in return. But no use, his next two questions remained unanswered. Just as he was about to fetch Harry and inform him about this, a familiar drawl sounded.

“Mister Malfoy. Finally felt it was time to visit your alma-mater, I presume?”

Draco unfurled from his position, eyes blinking rapidly in disbelief. That cold drawl sprouting sarcasm, turned silky with threat and menace when angered. His ex-potion and defence professor turned headmaster. **_Severus Snape_**.

The man who’d protected him, guided him not just in academics but with life lessons and _necessary appearances_ as well. His mentor, a man whom he’d held in high regard. Turning around, Draco saw the black clad figure of the professor leaning against the painted bookshelf, eyebrow raised and hands folded in his lecture pose.

Tears stinging his eyes, he slowly made his way towards the portrait, clutching the cup to warm his fingers. He’d left his own portrait in the Headmistress’s office to visit an old student, in the office of his once most-hated Gryffindor student. This was the first time since his death that Draco saw his Head of House and he didn’t know what to say to the man who’d saved him from becoming a murderer.

“Sir...” was all he could whisper.

“Mister Malfoy- Mister Potter now, If I’m right.” He paused here, looking at the two ex-students. “You look a little worse for wear. Husband getting on your nerves?” The rivalry was well-known and Snape hazarded a guess, trying to unsettle the blond. This tactic had worked well in the past with his snakes.

Draco started crying softly, no sound escaping from his lips. Seeing his usually strong and cunning student break down, cold onyx eyes directed a glare to the ex-Gryffindor, who promptly narrated the events of the past minutes in a whisper. Face smooth again, Snape waited for Draco to stop the waterworks, mind churning with thoughts. Portraits were limited (though Headmaster portraits were quite strong due to the extra charms woven during the making), but many of the characteristics and memories were absorbed into them. So, Severus’s observation and insightful thinking could already guess some of these issues, connecting the world news that he’d gleaned through both the living and non-living.

Being dead, made a man question some of his actions and regret a few, in hindsight. In his first year as a professor in the re-opened school, Severus had observed the growth of the once clumsy and timid Gryffindor, who’d shown exemplary courage during his last year at Hogwarts by conducting an underground resistance movement with a bunch of frightened teenagers. From the other portraits, students and his old (& alive) colleagues, he heard of the kind, just man Longbottom had become, a strict but good teacher and an honourable wizard. A chance encounter at the Headmistress’s office, leading to two painfully awkward conversations later, a tentative acquaintance had built between them. Severus had few tolerable people he could converse with, so Longbottom adding to the list was refreshing.

“Take a seat, Draco. And look at me,” Snape softly commanded after a while. Levitating his high-backed chair behind the blond, Neville backed away to give them some privacy. “Professor Longbottom, if you could oblige by ensuring that Mr Malfoy-Potter is not missed at the gathering in the Great Hall and excused for his ill health,” With a quick nod, Neville left his office.

“What is it, Draco?” A small shake of blond head made Severus sigh. “A Slytherin doesn’t show emotions in public, or to those they do not know well enough to trust with their vulnerabilities. They can often mislead them emotionally for the desired result. But,” here Severus’s gaze bore into slate grey eyes, “they unburden when they know that it’s to their benefit that they express and resolve. And to their trusted ones.” Draco didn’t reply, arms crossed as he lowered his gaze.

“I know your circumstances- there is hardly anyone you can trust to utter a kind word, let alone sympathise. And unless the reason for your avoidance of Hogwarts was due to not wanting to meet your old professor, I can conclude that I still hold that trust and can attempt to aid you.”

“I’m so sorry, professor” Draco murmured, then paused to gather his courage to look at the portrait. “I tried so hard. I did my best… I tried to be brave… I’m just so tired now. I just can’t deal with it anymore.” A part of his mind knew that his disjointed statements made no sense to someone not familiar to his situation, but he was simply too tired to narrate the pathetic life-story of Draco Malfoy Potter.

Snape pursed his lips, he could gather that it was not just the present situation that the boy- no man, now- was referring to, but the war too. The defeated look in his eyes, the twitches and scratching of his fingers (beyond that of any after-effect of drowning) and his body posture and gestures. Even setting aside his experiences as a spy, teaching and life had taught him enough to know that one’s devils lurked in many-a-marches. The brash, arrogant and bullying nature was absent; but it’d taken his pride and strength too, leaving behind a shell (no better than the Dementor-Kissed husks).

 _It was like coaxing Albus to depart with his secrets_ , Snape thought sourly as his attempted interrogation of the blond yielded mixed results. But one thing was for sure- the boy whom they had all pinned their hopes on had succeeded, but lost his soul along the way.

Snape had voiced his concern of Potter’s arrogance, ignorance and bull-headedness often, but Albus and the others had paid no heed. After all, what did his future character traits matter if they all perished in the war at present? And Albus had just given him an indulgent smile whenever he’d tried to caution the headmaster against the boy’s impertinence, twinkling eyes and all. But his popularity and fan-following had made the brat think that he was invincible; aided by the incompetent Ministry’s fawning, no doubt and his sycophants. And why would people care if he was abusive or horrible to his spouse? No doubt the ex-Slytherin rival was crying ‘Wolf’, they would snidely remark.

Self-preservation was one of the basic and intrinsic characteristics of a Slytherin (and you wonder, how he’d survived as a spy all these years). So, when a Slytherin tried to take their life, it was the ultimate cry to save their soul.

Draco Malfoy had been a favourite of Severus, even among the many Slytherins who’d graduated from Hogwarts. He was an intriguing mix of his parents and grand-parents, those that Severus had met. A sharp, ingenious mind; applied to education and mischief equally. A brittle pride that caught everyone’s eyes, hiding an unexpected wall of strength beneath. But the blond standing in front of him, he’d lost his sense of self. The damage to Draco’s psyche was severe, though it could be irreparable (if not already) if not provided adequate guidance. Both, in societal-legal and medical aspects.

The aftermath had been difficult for those who’d sided with the Dark Lord, as could be expected. But the worse had been the behind-the-public-scene repercussions. What happened to the orphans and dependents of these incarcerated wizards and witches? How did the ministry deal with the assets and possessions of these ‘dark families’? Simply conducting trials, hoarding pureblood/dark families’ wealth and declaring their ideology repugnant could never resolve the core, underlying issues that had popularised this ideology.

Bringing his mind back to the present, Severus contemplated on the Potter issue. “Do you want to get out of this, Draco?” The man took a while, trying to regulate his breathing as he looked at his former professor’s sombre expression. He nodded, all the while looking into painted yet piercing dark gaze. “Then you will follow the instructions and do as I say.” _Just like you used to_.

“Is there anyone in your life right now whom you can trust?” Grey eyes downcast again, Draco gave a jerk of his head. “Who is it?”

“Luna Lovegood.” If Snape was surprised by the revelation, he didn’t show it. By now, Draco was starting to feel exhausted, after the rollercoaster of events of the day. Not to mention the restless night he’d spent, nervous of coming to Hogwarts. His brain was getting fuzzy and he was having a hard time keeping awake.

“If you embark on this path to freedom and peace, the upcoming months will be a difficult, Draco. There’ll be scrutiny & speculation, slurs & rumours... But I believe you will make it through, but it’s essential that you believe this too.” There was no reply from the blond man slumped in the chair, but Snape wasn’t expecting one so soon.

“For the next few days, you will avoid going near Potter. Continue the charade of ill health. If needed, you can brew or I’ll help you acquire the _Adsimulate Potion_ to mimic the symptoms of the Rewainis Disease. This’ll keep Potter’s long nose out of your business and let the plan unfold smoothly.”

Drumming his fingers on opposite elbows, Snape continued, “I’ll send instructions through reliable sources and I expect them to be followed to the best of your ability. Am I clear, Mr Malfoy?” Another jerky nod, followed by a whispered, “Yes, sir.”

Silence reigned in the room till Neville returned after some time, an amiable silence where Draco was lost in thoughts and Severus observed his former student. “I’ve informed Harry and the others that you floo-ed back home. So, you don’t have to go back if you don’t wanna.”

With a short nod towards the new arrival, Draco stood up. Snape hadn’t failed to notice that throughout their conversation, the other’s hands had twitched, scratched and fidgeted. For a boy groomed by Lucius Malfoy and numerous tutors to inculcate elegant poise and perfect posture before company, this had been another glaring tell of the man’s prolonged suffering.

A soft “Thank you, professor” was uttered. With that, Draco Potter heaved a sigh and floo-ed back to Grimmauld Place. As Neville rightened his room before leaving to meet Hannah in The Three Broomsticks, Snape interrupted. “A word before you leave, Mr Longbottom.”

Half an hour later, sitting at a corner booth of The Three Broomstick, behind privacy wards, Neville narrated his conversation with Snape to his wide-eyed fiancé. Though they both had many questions about his requests, they knew better than to doubt the man who’d terrified generations of students yet played an invaluable role in the war.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you readers, for your patience and support, all the kudos and comments. You guys are the best!  
> All of Snape's thoughts are his own, tinged with his canonical views etc.  
> Next up will be things going according to the plan. I'll try to update as soon as possible. But I'm about to give an imp exam for my career, so I'll try to balance both. Hope you like this!

**Author's Note:**

> It's not beta-read. I apologise for any mistakes.  
> I'm not an expert on panic attacks or anxiety disorders, so sorry for any mis-representation. This wasn't meant to hurt any sentiments and I have a lot of respect for people who have gone through or are going through it. Also, I'm huge on consent and open communication before any sexual intimacy. So, this is just exploring an idea through Draco's story.  
> Do let me know in the comments if you like it and if you have any suggestions.  
> Comments and kudos make me happy and keep me motivated! :)


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